


just a little rush, babe

by led_zephlin



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: 1940s, Caretaking, Chthulu Special babey!!!, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Shenanigans, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prompt Fill, Sharing a Bed, alex. ben. why'd you do this to me, tropes. tropes everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-07 15:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20819741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/led_zephlin/pseuds/led_zephlin
Summary: There's a gleam in Julien's eye, a gleam that Herbert knows all too well (and probably loves far too much) when he says, "Let's go out.""Out?" Herbert echoes, even though he knows exactly what Julien means.Or: In which Julien gets absolutely wasted and Herbert deals with the fallout of a tongue too loosened by drink





	just a little rush, babe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blacksatinpointeshoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacksatinpointeshoes/gifts).

It's already late afternoon when Julien says it, sprawled across the couch in Herbert's office, legs dangling off one armrest. 

"I'm _ bored _." 

Herbert glances up from the paper he's been reading (a really fascinating work on South American beetles) in trepidation. He's been friends with the good doctor for a long time, and every time those words have passed Julien's lips, the two of them always end up in a heap of trouble. 

"Is that so?" says Herbert, trying to keep the ever-present edge of anxiety out of his voice. Showing a modicum of interest, positive or negative, only encourages Dr. Blake.

"Dreadfully so," Julien sighs. He drums his fingers along the back of the couch, wincing at the scratchy fabric. 

"How unfortunate for you." Herbert corrects a grammar error on the paper, ruminating for a moment on his close call with becoming an English major. A few curls fall into his eyes, and he's startled when Julien's fingers brush them away. Caught by surprise, he breaks his willful ignorance of Julien to turn and look at his friend, who's moved surprisingly fast for an academic to stand next to him. 

There's a gleam in Julien's eye, a gleam that Herbert knows all too well (and probably loves far too much) when he says, "Let's go out." 

"Out?" Herbert echoes, even though he knows exactly what Julien means. 

"Yes, _ out _," says Julien, a touch of fondness coloring the exasperation in his voice, "I'm bored. Let's go out, have a few drinks." 

"I-I _ can't _, Julie," Herbert says. "I've got work to do." He holds up the paper he's been grading. Julien scoffs, snatches it out of his hands, and tosses it away. It flutters to the floor like some oversized butterfly.

"_ Julie-!" _

"You work too much, dear boy," comes the indifferent reply. "You need to relax, loosen up a bit! A few drinks won't hurt." 

"They will when it's me," Herbert mutters. 

"I know, I know, you're a lightweight. As long as you go slow and drink water you'll be fine." 

"Are you going to take your own advice this time?" 

Julien laughs, loud and lovely. "Herbert, darling, when have I ever done that?" 

Herbert sighs. It's going to be a long night, but when Julien smiles at him like that, how could he ever say no?

* * *

It's near ten at night when Herbert starts to think that this was a bad idea. Julien's cheeks are flushed, his tie is undone, and there's a stupidly large smile on his face that makes Herbert's stomach do flips. 

"Be careful now, Julie," Herbert says nervously as Julien knocks back yet another Scotch, "Wouldn't want to make yourself sick." 

"Don't be such a wet blanket," Julien says, picking up another shot glass. The liquor has only just kicked in now, but he's nursing a healthy-feeling burn in the back of his throat, so things are going just fine. 

"And here I thought you were the doctor." 

"And a very good one, at that! Now, drink up-" Julien gestures at the sherry in front of Herbert, then winks when he says, "Doctor's orders."

* * *

It's almost midnight when they finally leave, and it's five minutes past when all of Julien's indulgences finally catch up with him.

"I _ told _ you to go slow," says Herbert, placing a gentle hand on Julien's back as he retches into an alleyway. His touch makes the trembling in Julien's limbs worse, if anything. 

"I-I thought I was the doctor," Julien chuckles weakly from where he's doubled over. 

"Clearly not." Herbert hands him a handkerchief, and Julien grudgingly accepts it. 

"Shall we go for another round?" he asks wryly, wiping his mouth. 

"Absolutely not," Herbert says. "I'm taking you back to my house so you can sleep this all off."

Julien loves him, but damn if he isn't a mother hen at times.

Julien groans. "I'll certainly be bored to sleep if your sister goes on another lecture about Romanticism."

"Muriel isn't home tonight, she's gone to some gallery viewing with a friend."

Julien brightens at that. "Ah, so we've got the whole place to ourselves?" 

"Don't start planning anything, Julie. I'm taking you home to get some sleep," Herbert says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, "Now, are you fit to walk?" 

"Well, look at you," Julien says with a grin. "Shame you went into bugs, you'd have made a hell of a nurse." 

Herbert rolls his eyes before saying, "Come on, Julie," and well, who is Julien to say no to such a dear old friend?

* * *

Julien's only marginally more sober by the time they reach the Cheedlehumes' mansion, but damn if he isn't drunk on Herbert's cologne. 

"My room is closer than the next guest bedroom, we'll just put you in there," says Herbert, more to himself than anything. 

"Come now, dear boy, if you wanted me in your bed, you didn't need to get me drunk to do it," Julien says, the alcohol making him bolder than usual. 

Herbert huffs a laugh at that. "You're quite smashed, aren't you?" he says lightly as he leads Julien into a nearby bedroom. 

"If I wasn't, what's the fun in drinking?" Julien runs his fingers over the spines of the many books lining the shelf in Herbert's room while Herbert turns on a lamp. 

"Go on, lay down," he says, gesturing at the bed. 

"I'm still not convinced this is necessary," Julien complains. 

"There's an alleyway a few blocks from here that says otherwise," comes the retort. Julien mock pouts, but tosses his coat to the floor and throws himself onto the bed in a similar fashion. 

"There we go." Herbert presses the back of his hand to Julien's forehead, and clicks his tongue. "We ought to get some water in you. Give me a minute, I'll get some."

He turns to go, and something in Julien panics. He doesn't want to be alone. 

"Wait," Julien says, and Herbert hesitates just long enough to be caught by the wrist. 

"Don't go," Julien says softly, pleadingly. Herbert looks back at him, and the lamplight makes a halo out of the curls of his hair.

"Please?" Julien ventures further, and Herbert's already soft heart yields. He draws back to the side of the bed, and Julien moves over to give him room. Herbert eases out of his jacket and drapes it over the back of a nearby chair. He runs an anxious hand through his hair before laying down, and Julien wonders if he could get Herbert to stay forever. 

His tie is still perfectly intact after the evening's events, somehow, and Julien _ tsks _, because no one ever slept soundly while wearing a bloody tie. He reaches for the knot and tries to loosen it, like he's done so many times before, and maybe it's the dim lighting but this time is different. It's different because Herbert seems to inhale slightly, a flush creeping over his cheeks as Julien's fingers work at the tie, clumsy in his drunken stupor. 

"Julie," he says, and he sounds almost faint, "What-" 

"You'll choke yourself if you keep this on," Julien says, pulling at the knot a little more roughly than he normally would. "Wouldn't want that, who else is going to put up with me-"

Herbert's hands fold over his, pausing his efforts. His eyes are soft now, like Julien's something precious and wonderful, like he's so much more than just an inebriated wreck of a man.

"I've got it," he says, and Julien lets his grip slacken. Herbert loosens the tie, and his normally stiff collar falls to the side, exposing the edge of his collarbone. 

"Better?" he asks softly. Julien blinks, then nods before moving to rest his head on the dear professor's shoulder. Herbert is tense at first, but settles relatively quickly, and he gets a little more relaxed with every tick of the clock. 

"This...this is nice, actually," says Herbert quietly after a few minutes. 

"Just like old times, hm?" 

"Which ones?" 

"Boarding school times, of course." Julien can't help but smile at the memories. "Say, dear boy, do you remember when we'd sneak out in the mornings during the summer term? And we carved our initials into a tree up on a hill by that one stream, and we named it, though I can't remember what-" 

"We named the stream after you," Herbert recalls, the corners of his lips quirking up, "You said I could have the hill, but you wanted the stream. So we named it Blake Creek."

"Ah, yes! And Cheedlehume Hill," Julien chuckles. "You liked looking for ladybugs and all sorts of things." 

"And you would laugh at me," Herbert says ruefully. 

"I still laugh at you." 

"You do, indeed." 

There's a slightly somber note to the last of Herbert's words, and Julien tilts his face up from where it rests on Herbert's shoulder to look at him. 

"Does that bother you? Genuinely?" 

Herbert is quiet for a moment. 

"Sometimes," he finally admits. "Mostly, it was during my bachelor's studies that I felt the worst about it. I don't care nearly as much now." He laughs softly to himself. "Honestly, if anything, it's sort of funny."

"I just can't seem to figure out why someone as brilliant as you would be so obsessed with the things that live in the ground."

"That's just it," Herbert says eagerly. "It's not just the ground that has bugs, it's the trees and the sky and everything else that lives in it, you see? There are all these little creatures that we never even think about, but they're so important and fascinating-" 

Julien is listening, of course. He listens more than everyone thinks he does. But right now, watching Herbert animatedly talk and talk with that light in his eyes, it's hard to hear anything other than his own heart thumping in his chest. He's known for a while that he loves Herbert, more than any friend would; but there's something about the ache between his ribs and the alcohol loosening his tongue that makes it burn so much brighter all of a sudden. 

"You know, Herbert, you're really quite pretty when you go on about things," he says. Herbert laughs nervously at that, ducking his head a bit. 

"Don't tease."

"I'm not," Julien insists, and he props himself up on one elbow to look Herbert in the eye. "I mean it."

Maybe it's the liquor that's trickled into his senses and pounding in his ears, but the way the lamplight casts stark shadows on Herbert's face makes Julien feel as though his heart is swelling up, fit to burst. 

They both stare at each other for what feels like agonizingly long hours before Herbert takes a deep breath. "Julie-" 

And then, for whatever reason, Julien kisses him, his fingers wrinkling the collar of Herbert's shirt as he's pulled down to close the space between them. Herbert's glasses are knocked askew as their lips meet, and there's something like a gasp that he makes that sends a thrill down Julien's spine. 

His lips taste like sherry in a way that feels like home, and Julien can't help but think that they're softer than he thought they would be. Softer, maybe, when Herbert tentatively kisses back, and Julien is too caught up in the feel of him to think about the implications of that.

Julien pulls away after a blissful eternity, and the breath that escapes him feels like a weight off his chest. Herbert's eyes are still closed, his lips still slightly parted. Julien isn't sure if the tightness in his chest is from the kiss or how astoundingly pretty Herbert looks right now. 

Herbert's eyelids finally flutter open again, and the blush on his cheeks is positively scarlet. His glasses are still crooked, one of the lenses pushed up onto his nose.

"Ah. Sorry about that, old sport," Julien says breathlessly, raising a hand to fix them. His fingertips brush Herbert's cheek as he does so, and the touch makes the dear professor stir. 

Herbert blinks, then swallows hard. "Qu-quite alright," he manages finally.

Somewhere in the alcohol-fueled haze, it starts to occur to Julien that he's made a very big mistake. 

He's kissed Herbert. 

His best friend.

_ Fuck _. 

"Dear me," he says, more to himself than anything. "I-I'm sorry, Herbert, I don't know what came over me-" 

Herbert has raised his own fingers to his lips, his thumb lingering where Julien's mouth had just been. He seems to be staring off into space, dazed.

"I-Perhaps I ought to call a cab," Julien says, moving to clamber off the bed. The mattress creaks as his weight leaves it, and the noise seems to startle Herbert back into the waking world as Julien staggers towards his coat. The room seems to spin and his head is starting to hurt. 

"Yes, I'll do that--I'll call a cab...where is the damned phone-?"

"Wait," says Herbert, turning to face him, "Julie, hang on-" 

There doesn't seem to be a phone in the room, he'll just have to wave one down in the street like an idiot. Julien sighs, too loud to hear the yelp Herbert makes when he falls off the bed in an attempt to climb out. 

"I've obviously had too much to drink, I'll just go home, sleep it off, you know," Julien rambles, fumbling for his wallet. The door is just in sight, all he has to do is walk through it and leave this whole mess behind- 

Herbert cuts in front of him, slamming his thin frame against the door, blocking the way. 

"I said, '_ wait _,'" he pants, and Julien stares at him, both incredulous and a little more taken with the flush on his cheeks. 

"Come on, old friend, let me by," he tries to say with a smile, but Herbert shakes his head. 

"You can't-you can't just _ do _ something like _ that _ and then _ leave _-not without explaining-"

"_ That _ was very untoward of me, and I apologize," Julien cuts in. "Still, I think it's for the best that we both forget about this, and sleep off the drink-"

_ "Forget?" _ Herbert says, his voice cracking. "You want me to _ forget?" _ He looks utterly heartbroken by that, and something in Julien's throat rends at the expression on his face. 

"Don't-don't you want to?" he asks. Herbert shakes his head, as if he can't comprehend why Julien would ever say such a thing. 

"Why on earth would I want to?" he demands. 

"Well-" Julien is floundering. "I suppose-because it's me, isn't it? And we're...we're us." 

Herbert's fingers wrap around the lapels of his coat, and pull him forward so that their noses are almost touching. 

"And what," he whispers like a dying man taking his last breath, "Is so wrong with that?" 

Honestly, no one could blame Julien for kissing him again, and this time Herbert kisses back with a fervor he didn't think the dear professor had. 

They break apart, and Herbert is still gripping his coat with an odd desperation. 

"Don't go," he says, out of breath, "Please." 

And well, who is Julien to deny a dear old friend?

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/kudos please!


End file.
